


Nighttime Communications

by NB_Cecil



Series: No Privacy on a Space Station [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Autistic!Julian, But Garak is helping, Clumsy!Julian, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Embarassed!Garak, Family Fluff, Fluff, Garak Does Right By Rugal, Garak is Good and Caring, Garak is Stuffy and Formal, Garak is uncharacteristically relaxed in this one, Julian is a dork, Julian’s Canon-Typical Dress-Sense, Kids Say What They See, Kids are Astute Observers of Adults, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No surveillance!, Phone Calls & Telephones, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Rugal Does Some Match-Making, Rugal is having a rough time on Cardassia, Una McCormack’s The Never Ending Sacrifice is on my Reading List!, late-night conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: In Garak’s quarters, Bashir wakes in the night to find Garak gone. When he goes to investigate he finds him talking to Rugal over subspace.***See end notes for content warnings***





	Nighttime Communications

A half-smile played on Bashir’s lips as he drifted into sleep, the cool weight of Garak’s body sprawled across his chest providing a relaxing pressure. Garak grinned to himself, stroking the Human’s cheek in a slow, steady rhythm until sleep overtook him too.

 

At 02:54, the Cardassian stirred, carefully rolled off his companion and, finding his clothes in the dark, dressed quietly. He slipped out of the bedroom.

Garak poured himself a glass of kanar, retrieved the portable communicator from his desk, sat down on the sofa, and perched the device in front of himself on the coffee table. He waited.

At exactly 03:00 the device chimed softly. Garak poked a finger at the “accept” button on the screen and the head and shoulders of a sleep-dishevelled Cardassian teenager came into view.

Garak tilted his head and smiled his tight-lipped smile. “Good morning, Rugal.”

“Mister Garak,” the boy returned the greeting with a respectful bow.

Formal greetings over, they settled into comfortable conversation, Garak enquiring how Rugal’s week had been; Rugal complaining about the dust and heat of Cardassia City, and his father’s insistence that he remove his Bajoran earring before leaving the house. Rugal asked after the O’Briens and Garak’s shop, and if Garak had heard from his Bajoran adoptive parents, Migdal and Etra. When he enquired after Doctor Bashir, the older man’s face lit up and he related a long anecdote about how the Human had burst into his shop yesterday, knocking over a mannequin and babbling excitedly about the arrival on the station of some alien diplomat or other. Rugal laughed in appreciation.

 

The conversation had taken a serious turn when Bashir emerged from the bedroom, scrubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. Garak was listening intently to Rugal relating the beating he’d received at school in front of his classmates—and the second one he’d received upon his return home—for contradicting a teacher on the ‘facts’ of the Bajoran Occupation. Garak drew air through his teeth and shook his head as he listened.

“Hey,” Bashir half-whispered so as not to startle his friend.

Garak looked up before turning back to the screen. “Excuse me, Rugal dear.” He looked back to Bashir. “Everything ok?”

“Mm, yes,” Bashir yawned, “I woke up and you weren’t there, so I came to look for you. Is that Rugal?” He gestured to the communicator, “I didn’t know you were in touch.”

“Yes,” Garak replied, “Why don’t you put on a shirt—“ He inclined his head, shaking it slightly to indicate his disapproval of Bashir’s bare chest, “—And then you can say ‘hello’.”

“Alright,” Bashir nodded and retreated to the bedroom.

 

“Doctor Bashir’s a good husband.” Rugal observed as the bedroom door hissed closed.

Garak spluttered, narrowly avoiding spitting kanar over the communicator. “He’s not... We’re not...” He stuttered.

“Oh,” Rugal shrugged. “You should ask him to marry you.”

Garak’s neck ridges flushed dark and he shifted around in his seat. “Hm, well...” He mumbled. He was saved further embarrassment by the return of his Human companion, resplendent in a neon green tank top and blue striped pyjama bottoms. “Come, Doctor!” He cried, louder than necessary, patting the sofa cushion, “Sit.”

All vestiges of sleep having departed, Bashir practically bounced into seat. “How are you, Rugal?” He greeted the boy with a broad grin.

As the pair exchanged pleasantries Garak busied himself by neatening a stack of padds on the table, attempting to get a handle on his composure.

_Husband, really. _He thought to himself and shook his head imperceptibly, grinning a small, secret grin.__

**Author's Note:**

> ***CW for mention of child abuse and corporal punishment***
> 
> Garak appears to have an internal clock which tells him when it’s time to wake up without the need of an alarm. Probably his Obsidian Order training, or just that he’s woken up by a PTSD nightmare every 20 minutes or sthg, idk...
> 
> Comments are love <3 ;)


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